I love to sit at the intersection of 10,000 universes, where the tranquil chorus of creatures in every tree, convulse with all
the improvisation of jazz and the eloquence of the sacred story of life, and sing to the percussion of a bustling city far beyond, and drink in the night through
my ears.
And as I listen to this nocturnal fugue between nature and man, I marvel at the almost incurable distance that has grown between the nature of life and the artifices of living, thanks to man and his clever ideas. And as we climb over each other, and the dead, striving after the latter, I revel with those more enlightened species who now serenade me, with a sense of reverence for the former.
“We are all down here in the gutter,” wrote Oscar Wilde, “but some of us are looking at the stars.”
And as I listen to this nocturnal fugue between nature and man, I marvel at the almost incurable distance that has grown between the nature of life and the artifices of living, thanks to man and his clever ideas. And as we climb over each other, and the dead, striving after the latter, I revel with those more enlightened species who now serenade me, with a sense of reverence for the former.
“We are all down here in the gutter,” wrote Oscar Wilde, “but some of us are looking at the stars.”
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